Solvent
by toLockAHeart
Summary: A solvent is something that dissolves or provides a solution. It can also be something that eliminates something especially unwanted. Madness is a solvent and one Jefferson knows intimately. Post-Hat Trick


I'll admit: Jefferson is my favorite character and if I could I would pay to have a series just about him (or maybe two, one for Fairy Tale Land another for Storybrooke). But since that's not happening, there is something I can do. And it's write a one-shot. It's Post-Hat Trick but I might eventually get into things pre-"Hat Trick"/pre-"Doctor" Fairy Tale Land-wise. For now, I hope this small fic peaks your interest and you enjoy it...

Disclaimer: Nope, _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters are not belonged by me.

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Jefferson was a mad.

That's what everyone said. What the children read.

Jefferson was a mad.

It wasn't always like that. Once he had been balanced. Not sane, no. Sanity stemmed from a part of the brain that came from peace and wholeness, being able to sleep at night without support. No, Jefferson had never been sane, but he had also never been unstable.

His madness hadn't come suddenly though. And it wasn't all entirely new. Ever since he had first tripped down the rabbit hole that one piece of the clock in his head hadn't seemed to turn right. It dragged, ticking slowly, second by second eroding at the gears in his mind. But maybe his madness had started before then. Maybe it had begun when a monster offered him a deal, or when a hat found its way into his hands, or maybe when he saw red blood on white snow and a fire kissing starlight.

All Jefferson knew for sure was that he hadn't gone mad until he'd lost his head.

Well, maybe.

Jefferson's finger tickled the piano keys, skimming across white tile the way ice skaters danced across lakes. Dancing. Now there was something Jefferson hadn't done in a while. Not since…

No. If there was one thing he wouldn't let his madness touch it was doe eyes, bronze hair, and a violet dress.

He glanced down at his hands as he played without thinking, a song he didn't quite remember learning. Those hands had not always been this way. They had not always been used to bring beauty, or laughter, or a tiny glimpse at sunlight. Once those hands had been used to trick, to steal. To bring about pain and despair all for the sake of someone he wasn't quite sure was the monster. Because he wasn't quite sure he was a man.

Jefferson sighed. The song died away slowly and a tapping replaced the silence. His feet bounced against the wooden floor with a mixture of nervous and mad energy. It snapped throughout him and pushed him to do something.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps there could be solace in darkness. Once there had been, before golden tongues and scarlet hearts. Jefferson pressed his hands against his head, trying to strengthen the inky shadows flooding to his mind. But there was no peace. Instead there was a whispered plea, soft song and endless portal. He rushed to his feet with such speed that the stool he had been sitting on jerked and fell over, hitting the floor with a loud bang.

Less noise to fill empty spaces.

What had happened to little feet and dancing beauty?

They were at the end of an eternal tunnel filled with madness.

Jefferson chuckled darkly. Of course it was madness that held his relief. He and madness we old friends, chatting over tea. Tea. When was the last time he held a cup filled with the enchanting smell of his favorite drink?

Probably the day before he had surrendered himself to baby curls and protectiveness over soft flesh and loving doe…

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Madness wasn't just mental. Madness was a state of being. It was action and reaction. It was thoughts and words. It was the way someone moved and the way someone answered.

Madness was a part of Jefferson, a glimpse straight into his soul. Each breath pumped madness throughout him and with each breath madness devoured him. It was in his blood, his bones. Each step down the hall, each finger tap. Madness resonated inside him and made him…whole?

Now who was going down the rabbit hole?

Jefferson strode through the halls until he arrived at an achingly familiar door. He brushed the door open and slid into the darkened room with a whisper of fabric on wood. He pointedly decided to ignore the seductive hiss of golden glass and leaned against his work table. His dark gaze seared each hat as he took in every stitch, style, and color. To an amateur's eyes they might look the same, but he could see each nuance and each stroke he changed in order to make the magic work again.

But there was no magic. No magic, but plenty of madness.

It ached, pulsing. The remembrance of a time when madness was just a thought. A passing idea. The fleeting sight of an amethyst dress through the trees. Madness had once been only a chance. But without magic, all the world was madness.

Jefferson's jaw clenched. Madness. It was the new order. All the land exuded was madness. Maybe madness was the compensation. Madness to replace magic. Because there was no magic in this land. Not even a breath of what had once existed. Because once upon a time, madness wouldn't have been allowed in his house. Once upon a time Jefferson would have waved his hands and the magic would have come like a flock of ravens screaming into madness and scaring it away.

But there was no escape. No relief, no serenity. Madness was an impossible riddle with no real answer and Jefferson knew that madness was now eternally inside him.

Emma Swan had called him a mad man. Jefferson had found the thought grating and insulting. The idea that his condition could be wrapped up in two simple words rankled him. As if the madness that was his soul was somehow easy to understand and simple to elucidate.

Because Jefferson refused to think that mad man was the only label he could ever own now.

Having madness eat away at your essence and shape you into something and then someone calling you a mad man was an outrage. When madness filled your spirit it wasn't an easy diagnosis; like clear cut answers to an unsolvable riddle. Jefferson's madness was an entity of differential meanings and it wasn't the madness that caused Jefferson to be a mad man.

Because to have madness was to have memories. Memories of ivory skin, white souls, golden glow, and the sun in the horizon. Madness came from the reminiscence of things that were impossible to live with. Madness was a drug. A toxin which ate at the pain and self-deprecation in order to allow the mind to understand what the heart and soul couldn't.

No, Jefferson was not a mad man because madness was inside him. Being a mad man meant doing the things that no one should. Having madness meant seeing things that no one should have to. Jefferson's madness did not come from or create what he was. It came from what he did, what he had done. It came from the breath of life and the cry of lost souls in a vortex, a cage. Madness had not made him a mad man. Madness had taken the hollow parts he had never realized were there and eradicated them. It took away the pieces that he hadn't realized where broken, scarred, damaged beyond repair. Madness sang him a song he didn't understand and it was through madness that he slept every night without the memories eradicating him. Madness changed him.

Or saved him.

But it was not the madness that made him a mad man. The mad man came from something Emma Swan could never understand. Most likely.

The mad man came from locked dungeons, severed heads, and cursed promises. It wasn't madness that had made Jefferson who he was. It was his own self.

Emma had called Jefferson a mad man because he had done what society told him not to. It was the mad man in Jefferson who told him power lay in the Swan's heart and it was the mad man who decided to act. He refused to accept the notion that it was his madness that was the cause of his abducing jaunt. His madness was not the curse the Queen had given him.

If the Queen had given him a curse.

Because Jefferson knew madness and he knew what it meant. Being a mad man was not something he was familiar with. Of course, maybe he was. Madness was something which he was unsure of its origins. Where and when his madness blossomed was a debate that he knew there was no answer. It was the similarity between a raven and a writing desk. But his being a mad man could have a beginning.

And maybe it was when golden tongues first promised.

It was an answer, an explanation. The reason behind his wrongs. Maybe he had been given a curse. One that had been to pull out that which was already there. And maybe his curse had begun before Storybrooke did. Because Jefferson knew he had to be a mad man.

Because only a mad man would make a deal with an evil queen.

Only a mad man would allow himself to get stuck in Wonderland.

Only a mad man would send his daughter away.

Only a mad man would let his family go.

Yes, Jefferson was a mad man.

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A/N: That was harder to write than I originally thought but I hoped you like it. I'm considering writing more and if you want me to write more I might, so I am accepting (Jefferson and Jefferson pairings) prompts. Please write a review and tell me what you think. Hope you all have a wonderful day and see you at the end of the rabbit hole.


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